


There and Back Again, the Right Way

by Fall_Out_Mak



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-10 00:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4370735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fall_Out_Mak/pseuds/Fall_Out_Mak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of a girl, who is thrown into one of the greatest adventures a dedicated Tolkien fan could experience. Told in third person point of view. (Oneshot).</p>
            </blockquote>





	There and Back Again, the Right Way

The rain pattered against the windows, with no signs of letting up anytime soon. The young girl barely acknowledged the thunder roaring in the distance, far too absorbed in her reading. She was curled up on the floor next to the blazing fire, entranced by her favorite book,  The Hobbit . She had read the masterpiece countless times, eventually wearing out the cover of the beloved book. 

She connected with each character in her own way, from losing her mother at a young age like Legolas, to having her father murdered like Thorin. She knew the story by heart and would recite phrases in everyday conversations. She only wished J.R.R. Tolkien had been able to finish his fantasy world, before he had passed away from pneumonia. Just imagine what stories he had left to tell, the heartbreaking tales which will never be heard.

The girl had been reading for hours on end, flying through the pages. The nights of secretly staying up just to read, began to take a toll, for sleep tugged gently at her eyelids. She fought fruitlessly against the addictive sensation, but nevertheless, the book fell out of her hands as she fell into a deep slumber. 

Darkness engulfed her as harsh winds whipped around her, sending her into a never-ending downward spiral. Unknowing to her, a piercing scream escaped her lips, waking her up with a jolt. The girl sat up, gasping for air, only to freeze completely at her surroundings. She was no longer in her uncle’s library, but in a mass of ruins, a single mountain gracing the horizon. She slowly got to her feet, trying to determine why this place seemed so familiar, yet so foreign.

She wandered through the ruins, sticking to the shadows to avoid the refugees, recognizing the city almost immediately, Dale. The City of Dale had been destroyed by the ferocious dragon Smaug, who had laid dormant in the Lonely Mountain for decades to follow. The girl knew that Thorin Oakenshield and company would set off on an epic quest to reclaim their homeland, yet the outcome always brought her to tears. 

Shaking her head, as if to remove the thoughts, brought the girl back to reality. Why was she here in the first place? She walked to the edge of the balcony, taking in the gorgeous view, when she noticed smoke in the distance. Since she knew the map of Middle Earth by heart, she knew it could only be from one place, Laketown. Smaug must’ve been killed, Bard must’ve led the people of Laketown to Dale. The girl couldn’t hold her excitement in, jumping up and down on the balcony, fangirling all by herself. 

She sprinted towards the center of the city, searching for Bard, who she hoped looked like Luke Evans, who played the role in Peter Jackson’s films. After a few minutes of searching, she discovered Bard as well as Thranduil and Gandalf the Grey, in an extremely decorated tent. “Who are you child, and why do you barge into a private meeting?” “There’s no time for introductions, you must hurry. Azog's armies are close, he means to attack by two fronts. He is not only going to use Wereworms to bring his army sooner than anticipated, he has reinforcements coming from Gundabad. You cannot focus on the dwarves, Thorin will come to his senses soon enough. He has already sent word to his kin, Dáin II Ironfoot and an army of dwarves are coming down from the mountains.” They all looked at her like she was speaking gibberish. 

Gandalf was the first to speak up, “Child, how did you come of this? Who told you?” She paused for a moment, not too keen on how to explain it. “I read a book, I know it’s hard to believe but you must.Thorin, Kili and Fili will die if you don’t, the line of Durin will end.” She turned to Thranduil who had kept quiet the entire time, “Hundreds of your kin will perish as well, do not think elves are prioritized over men and dwarves, death has no favorites.” The tent was silent, the only noise came from the soldiers mingling outside. 

The girl knew none of them were convinced, she had to think of a plan. “Oh, I can prove it. Bilbo is going to come in here, he’ll have the only thing that Thorin is desires, the Arkenstone. He’ll claim to have taken it as his fourteenth share.” Her face lit up, knowing they would have to believe her. The men, half disregarding the girl, began to resume their conversation, prior to the girl’s intrusion.

“Do you agree with this? Is gold so important to you? Would you buy it with the blood of dwarves?” Gandalf huffed, still not fully trusting Bard. “It will not come to that. This is a fight they cannot win,” before Bard could continue, a voice interrupted him,  “That won't stop them! You think the dwarves will surrender? They won't. They will fight to the death to defend their own.” They all turned to see the small halfling standing before them. “Bilbo Baggins!” Gandalf cried in relief, only to pause and glance at the girl, not saying another word.

“If I am not mistaken, this is the halfling who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards,” Thranduil commented dryly. The girl suppressed a laugh, noting Bilbo’s sheepish smile and the awkward shuffling of his feet. “Yish... Sorry about that,” he muttered, before approaching  the table.  “I came to give you this,” he placed a small bundle on the table, revealing the Arkenstone. “The Heart of the Mountain! The King's Jewel,” Thranduil rose from his seat, glancing from the stone to the girl. “And worth a king's ransom. How is this yours to give?” Bard questioned the hobbit, anticipating his response. “I took it as my fourteenth share of the treasure,” Bilbo replied, a sad smile graced his lips. 

Silence filled the tent once more, all eyes on the girl. “Do you believe me now?” She sighed, impatient that this conversation was taking so long. No wonder the movies took several hours to get through. “There are no signs of deceit in her eyes, we should listen to her. She was right about Bilbo, not just anyone could have predicted that, not even I,” Gandalf laughed, looking at the others for their answers. “I shall trust this girl, only if, I am able to reclaim what is rightfully mine. Silmarilli, my family’s jewels,” Thranduil remarked, looking away from the wizard’s gaze. “I have no right to go against a wizard, nor a King’s will. I pray this girl is right,” Bard nodded, all three of them willing to heed her warning. 

Preparations were quickly arranged, building up forces to the East and West of Dale. The elvish army stood guard, waiting for the vile orcs to show themselves. The girl did what she could, helping guide the women and children into the main hall, where they had reinforced the doors, enough to withstand the wrath of a cave troll. She would often gaze at the Lonely Mountain, concerned for the well-being of Thorin and his company. She was the only one who understood the severity of the dragon sickness which held Thorin in its grasp, knowing it was slowly eating away at him. She prayed that Bilbo would be able to convince Thorin to fight, when it really mattered. The girl had no idea what the outcome would be, she only hoped it would result in a swift victory. 

Dawn was quickly upon them, much faster than they had wished. The girl rode along with Thranduil, who had taken a liking to her witty humor yet would never openly admit it. They had taken to the East, while Gandalf and Bard took position closer to the West, towards Ravenhill. The first stir was the pounding of dwarven feet, marching over the hill towards the Lonely Mountain. Dáin II Ironfoot had arrived with his kinsmen, ready to fight the elves, yet they would be in for a surprise. 

They surrounded the base of the mountain, Dáin yelling up to Thorin, discussing their strategy. A deafening rumble shook the earth, towards the East of Dale. “The Wereworms, the Battle of Azanulbizar  is about to being,” the girl whispered, unconsciously tightening her grip on Thranduil’s arm. She could faintly hear Dáin yell out, “The hordes of Hell are upon us! To battle, to battle sons of Durin!” The dwarves ran towards the orcs pouring out of the tunnels, forming a wall of shields. The pounding of feet vibrated throughout the ground. A horn blared through the air, coming from Ravenhill.

Thranduil calmly motioned to his men, who split into two ranks. In swift unison they ran towards the mass of orcs, some even backing up the dwarves. Azog’s first army was fully surrounded, which would spare the city of Dale the massive destruction the girl knew by heart. Arrows flew through the air, piercing orcs as they crept closer. To prevent the dwarves from taking the full blow of the stampede, the second group of elves gracefully leaped over the dwarves, slaying several orcs before their feet even touched the ground.

The girl watched the battle with indescribable emotions, she was currently living her favorite book, and maybe, just maybe, it would turn out how she always wished. There had yet to be any signs of Thorin and the company, making the girl wonder if her plan would actually work. She watched as the orcs were slaughtered, most of them killed by elven arrows. 

“You, girl... If you had told us your name before this, this would be significantly easier. What else is going to ensue?” Thranduil asked, his eyes never leaving his men. “Azog’s reinforcements are on their way, it won’t be long. As soon as we defeat this group, your kin must turn West. Thorin and company will eventually come out and fight, he will want to kill Azog on his own. If he tries he’ll succeed, but he will perish in the end, along with his nephews. The eagles will arrive, towards the end of the battle, Radagast and Beorn will be among them. We must hold out till then,” the girl recited the events from memory. 

The first wave of orcs were struggling to maintain order, most of those of higher rank had been slaughtered early on. Not even the cave trolls were able to penetrate the city of Dale. Thranduil withdrew his troops, leaving the stragglers to the dwarves, heading towards the West of Dale to aid the townsmen. The attack from Gundabad was almost upon them. As they headed towards Gandalf and Bard, the entrance of the Lonely Mountain was smashed apart, a giant bell crushing the stone. Thorin charged out, sword in hand, the company close behind him.

The girl internally screamed, ecstatic beyond belief. Thorin had realized what he was becoming, the dragon sickness slowly warping his mind. She knew that Bilbo had been a major factor in helping him regain his sanity, no doubt indeed. The company stopped beside them, looking at her with questioning eyes, as well as the Elven King. “Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thór, King under the Mountain, I am beyond honored to meet you, as well as your kin, but this is no time for introductions.” Thranduil chuckled in front of her, remembering her words from the night before. “Azog’s reinforcements are almost upon us, they come from Gundabad, bred for war. Azog is on Ravenhill, but you must not go alone, not even with your best fighters,” she glanced towards Dwalin, Fili and Kili. “You have no right- “Silence, let the girl speak. She has been correct about the battle so far, it would do you well to listen to her,” Thranduil cut Thorin off, before he could defend his pride. “Take arms with the men and elves alike, defeat Azog together, once and for all. This is not a battle of race, but a battle of survival,” the girl spoke confidently, determined to have Thorin see her as an equal. 

Thorin stared at her, his face voided of all emotion, his fellow dwarves looked concerned, worried about what would be said next. “It would be for the best,” Bilbo spoke up, “she is only telling you this to protect the line of Durin.” Thorin looked around, taking in the faces of his kin as well as the eleven troops. He slowly turned to the girl, “We shall heed your warning, young one,” a determined look twinkled in his eyes. The battle was finally going to end the way it should have ended the first time. 

The girl rode with Thranduil, the company following a few lengths behind, regrouping with Gandalf and Bard. All eyes watched Ravenhill closely, waiting for any signs of Azog’s second army. The sound of horse hooves disturbed the eery silence. Legolas, Thranduil’s son arrived, a look of distressed shadowed his stunning facial features. “Gandalf! There is a second army, Bolg leads a group of Gundabad orcs, they’re almost upon us,” his discovery surprises no one. Legolas continues, discussing what was in store for them. 

“I like this girl, she’s quite handy,” Kili laughed, wrapping an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Where were you when we started this quest? Things would’ve been much easier,” Fili chimed in, agreeing with his brother. She gave no reply, only smiling fondly at the two young dwarves before turning to Bilbo. “Thank you Bilbo, for believing in me. I’m not sure if we would have made it this far without you,” she expressed her inner thoughts to the small hobbit. “Yes, well, you’ve managed to maintain the company. If you hadn’t shown up, weird clothes and all, who knows how many of us would be dead,” his words were warming but also painful to hear. This was a dream, she was sure of it, there’s no way her actions could actually change the outcome of Tolkien’s masterpiece.

The wait was strenuous, one side waited for the other, yet neither budged. Azog was waiting, wanting to lure Thorin into Ravenhill, along with his nephews, in order to end the line of Durin. Daylight was fading fast, Azog would have to strike soon or be forced to wait till nightfall. The fog began to thicken, making Ravenhill almost impossible to see from Dale. The attack was eminent, the fate of the battle would soon be determined. 

The first creatures to come out of the fog were the Gundabad bats, their ungodly screeches filled the air. Thranduil’s troops continuously shot them down, moments after they became visible. The horn from before blared once more, signaling Azog was finally making a move. Orcs began charging out of the fog, the silence was shattered once more, by the clashing of swords.  

“Azog was commanded by the Necromancer, this is his only chance at claiming the mountain. He will fight to the death, his main objective will be killing Thorin,” the girl locks eyes with Thorin before continuing, “you must wait till his army is weak, not a moment too soon.” The cries of eagles disrupted the conversation, as they flew into battle. Radagast led the great eagles taking out hordes of orcs, their talons ripping the foul creatures apart. Beorn jumped off the back of one, transforming into his beast form, plowing through the enemy's army.

The fog began to clear, as the sun rose higher into the sky. Azog’s reinforcements began to retreat, fleeing for their lives. The white orc himself stood upon Ravenhill, watching as his troops deserted him, knowing all too well the battle was lost. “Come, die like your father!” Azog roared in Orcish, tempting Thorin. The dwarf king was visibly angered by these words, clenching his fists. He glanced at the girl, who motioned to the company. They were going together or not at all, she was determined to prevent the company from losing even one companion. 

The dwarves took up their arms, mounting the armored goats that were in reserve for times such as these. The girl mounted Thranduil’s moose once more, following the dwarves up to the heart of Ravenhill. Azog the Defiler stood in the center of the river, which had been iced over. Bolg was nearby, ready to fight to the death with his father. She knew quite well that Thorin would not settle with simply ending Azog’s life with an arrow tip, he wanted the pleasure of piercing the orc’s heart with his own sword.

Thorin swiftly jumped from his armoured goat, striding towards the white orc with his sword in hand. The remaining company advanced towards Bolg, separating the two orcs. Thranduil stayed farther behind, keeping the girl out of the battle, much to her dismay. She knew she would only be a burden, but that did not dampen the amount of adrenaline which rushed through her veins. She watched as Thorin and Azog went at each other, their swords clashing against each other. Azog had an extra weapon, a ball and chain, yet it seemed to slow him down, giving Thorin an advantage. 

The rest of the company were slowing forcing Bolg towards the edge of the frozen waterfall, he would have to fight to the death or take a leap of faith. He seemed to have made his decision, as he threw his sword directly at Dwalin, who skillfully deflected it. Without giving the rest of the dwarves a chance to strike, he stepped back off the cliff, disappearing from sight. Within seconds an eagle flew from under the cliff, Bolg in it’s talons. The pitiful orc cried out as another eagle grabbed his dangling legs, ripping his body into two. 

Azog halted his movements, watching as his only son was gruesomely murdered before his own eyes. This gave Thorin the opening he was hoping for. Using his remaining strength, he kicked the orc’s legs out from underneath him, forcing the unruly creature onto his back. “This is for my father,” Thorin spat into his face, before driving his sword through Azog’s chest. He had used enough force that he managed to break through the thick ice beneath him. Thorin had avenged his grandfather, as well as his father. The Battle of Azanulbizar was over. 

The remaining orcs had been slaughtered, their bodies were piled together and burned, sparing the world of their miserable existence. The girl rode with Thranduil back to the mountain, meeting up with the rest of the group. The cries and cheers of the troops and townsfolk alike filled the air. The eagles flew off into the sunset, as the Wereworms returned to their home in the depths below. Thranduil was given what was promised long ago, Silmarilli, as well as the Necklace of Girion, from Bard as a parting gift. Not only was Thorin officially crowned King under the Mountain, but the dispute between elves and dwarves was finally resolved.

"Honey, it's time for bed," Uncle's voice bellowed above them. The girl practically jumped out of her skin, forgetting this was all just a wonderful dream. Yet no one else reacted to the voice of her beloved uncle. "It's time for me to pay you all a very fond farewell. I wish I could stay, but my time has been spent," the girl sighed, standing before her new friends. "What, you can't leave!" Kili and Fili practically yelled, scrambling to the girl's side. She hugged both of them with all her might, sad to have to part from the company. "Always remember, you're part of the company. You're one of us," tears filled Bofur’s eyes as he continued, "I wish you all the luck in the world, I really do." The girl gently wiped his tears away, hugging him in a tight embrace.

The goodbyes were tearing her up inside, she didn't want to leave, but she knew she couldn't just abandon her uncle. She took turns telling each dwarf parting words, expressing how she would never forget them. Lastly, she stepped towards Thorin, who stood before her, his blade still covered in Azog's blood. "I am sorry for doubting you lassy, you are welcomed in Erebor, for all the years to come." The tears spilled down the girl's face as she buried her face into his chest. She knew this would be her first and final trip to Middle Earth, an experience which she would never forget. She stepped back, taking in everyone's face, etching this image into her mind. "Farewell my friends."

The darkness consumed her once more, the wind slashed out around her. The endless free falling sensation returned, causing her stomach to churn. "Tauriel, it's time for bed," her uncle's voice boomed above her. Lights surrounded her, temporarily blinding her before she opened her eyes to find herself sitting once more in front of the fireplace. "Tauriel, what did I say about sleeping near the fire?" The girl scrambled to sit up, grabbing The Hobbit and running to her uncle who stood in the doorway of the library. "Uncle," she flipped through the book, skipping to the end, "do you know how  The Hobbit  ended?" "Of course, you know just as well, a stranger from another world appeared warning the company of Azog's schemes. That stranger saved the lives of several elves and dwarfs, and is also who you're named after," her uncle smiled at her fondly, walking her to her bedroom. She froze as she skimmed over the last pages of  The Hobbit , the ending had changed. She had changed the ending, she had saved the line of Durin. She stepped into her room, not taking her eyes from the book, "Goodnight, Uncle Legolas," she muttered, unable to fathom the fete which she had just accomplished. 


End file.
